Introductions
by Eye of a Hawk
Summary: For all the times Mustang and Hawkeye have met.


Introductions

_For all the times Mustang and Hawkeye have met_

_The first introduction_

"Who are you?" snapped the small, blonde child, partially hiding behind the large door of the decrepit mansion. She warily examined the person standing in front of her, as if trying to perceive if her was a threat.

"Isn't this Sensei Hawkeye's residence?" The boy brushed his black hair out of his face, revealing onyx eyes, worried and curious.

"Oh." The little girl stepped back. "You're the new student." She paused, then inched the door open a little more. Nervously shifting from foot to foot, she told the equally anxious student, trying not to drop his increasingly heavy suitcase, "Father will be wanting to see you then." A moment of longing flitted across her sallow face, before dropping her head, she stepped back. Her hair fell to obscure her face. The student pushed the door open a little further with difficulty. Rusty hinges squealed ear-splittingly, as heslipped into the dank hallway. He had to squint to see the receding figure of his sensei's daughter. Her blonde halo was the only visible trace of her passage into the depths of the gloomy mansion. It would not be the last time he would be found trailing confusedly after the stiff-backed girl.

* * *

><p><em>The second time they met<em>

Mustang swore as he stumbled into a large object. Groping along the wall on his way to the front door, he hit the light switch, muttering about his newly acquired limp and rubbing his eyes in attempt to find the door handle in the late night gloom. Unlocking the door with one hand, he brush his hair out if his eyes. He swore again as the door jerked against the chain, and he had to shut the door on the visitor to unhook it. He opened the door, successfully this time, and raised his onyx eyes to meet an equally surprised pair of amber ones, partially obscured by vaguely familiar blonde hair.

"Your sensei's daughter!" he exclaimed, wincing as she looked down in embarrassment. Shifting slightly, she apologized. "I'm sorry for waking you, but my key doesn't work anymore." She must have just arrived by train, from the school she'd attended for the past four years, Mustang realized. Looking up nervously, Hawkeye's daughter continued uncertainly , "The school closed down, so I had to return. I wrote my father telling him, but I guess he didn't get the letter."

Then more anxiously. "Is he up?" She peered around him worriedly, scouting out the hallway behind Mustang.

Realizing he was blocking her, Mustang stepped back and opened the door further. "No, he's already asleep. Would you like me to wake him?" he added, belatedly understanding her sigh must have been one of relief. "No" she quickly reassured him after her initial jump. "That's alright."

Mustang stepped further away from the doorway, and she slipped past him. The moment she entered the house, the remaining glow in her eyes and face faded, replaced by a strained expression and slumped shoulders. "Can…I…umm, get you anything?" Mustang stuttered, not sure how to treat her after four years of nonexistant contact. The twelve year old glanced up, then returned her gaze to the floor. "No, that's okay. I don't want to keep you up any longer." And disappeared into the kitchen with her threadbare suitcase.

She would unobtrusively meld herself into his life, but become a permanent fixture in the process. Fifteen year old Mustang watch her figure retreat down the hallway into the gloom for the second time, treading with practiced care around the various, and rather invisible, furniture in the mansion despite her long absence. Her father would rarely acknowledge her presence in the next five years they lived together in the same house, but she made all of the difference in young Mustang's life.

* * *

><p><em>The third time, reunion<em>

Mustang stepped off the mostly empty train and onto an even more deserted platform. The gusting wind nearly blew his hat off with its ferocity, and he snatched at it futility until grabbing it off his head altogether and stuffing it in his uniform coat pocket. Flipping up his collar at the cold, he bowed his head against the biting wind, resigned for a long and miserable hike. Long hair whipping in the wind, he ducked into the shelter of the doorway, adjusting his coat and replacing his hat before cautiously rapping on the decrepit door.

He began fidgeting and pacing, pausing occasionally in worry as one, two, three full minutes passed without any sign of life. Finally gathering the courage to knock again, he strode up to the door, resolve firm, and nearly hit the face of the woman who had quietly inched open the door. Surprised that his Sensei had acquired a housekeeper -_when had he had time or money to do that-_ Mustang opened his mouth to request a moment of Master Hawkeye's time. Then swallowed his words.

Was this… was this _Riza? _She looked _awful. _She'd never been comfortable in her father's house, but this was a new low for her. Her former blonde halo was cropped short and dull. She was grey with fatigue, her hands dry and cracked. Her pale lips were a stark contrast with the dark, dark circles under her eyes. Her shoulders were hunched and she had to lean against the doorway for support. Mustang's heart went out to her- she was far too young to carry such unhappy burdens. Quietly, he whispered "Hi", then darted inside to catch Riza from collapsing in exhaustion. Slinging her arms around his shoulder, he hauled her underfed body into the kitchen, gently placing her down in a chair, before walking over the stove to fill the kettle.

Despite her father's condition, Riza had managed to keep the kitchen spotless. She probably spent most of her time here, even if it didn't show by her emaciated condition. He rummaged through the cupboard, trying to find _something_ he could prepare hastily for her, but found little in the meager stock of food remaining in the pantry. When was the last time she'd been shopping, or even out of the oppressive house? Turning back to the whistling kettle, he was relieved to see there was still some of her favorite blend. The hot drink seemed to mildly revive Riza, but she still looked terrible- the years of caring for her father having taken their toll on her. They sat in silence for a while, each nursing their own drinks and thoughts before Riza spoke up.

"You should talk to him."

Mustang nodded, placing down his cup, suddenly filled with dread and ascended carefully to his master's study. The encounter would not end well for any of them.

* * *

><p><em>The fourth encounter<em>

Hughes returned with a figure covered in sand and military camouflage. "This is the sniper who saved us. She says she's been transferred to your unit." Mustang nodded tiredly, preparing to give an explanation of his tactics and alchemy when the sniper threw back her hood, allowing for a clear view of her dusty and blood-spattered face.

"Hello Major Mustang. Its good to see you again." A thin smile graced Hawkeye's face. Mustang felt an answering smile cross his face. "Cadet Hawkeye, reporting for duty."

_Cadet? _Mustang blinked in momentary confusion. Recognizing the expression on his face, Hawkeye shrugged. "They're getting pretty desperate for reinforcements, so the higher ups pulled a few of us out to do some "comprehensive training" on the front." Mustang's smile faded. He'd always known that Hawkeye's skill with a rifle bordered on ridiculous for anyone, not just a girl, and he took it as proof that she could defend herself through the years she spent caring for her father alone, but for once he could have hoped that her aim wasn't as keen as her name implied. Too many young lives on both sides were being destroyed and he didn't want hers to be added to the list. Nor did he want for her to bear the scars this massacre left on all the soldiers.

It seemed too late though. She had killer's eyes. Some people tried to classify killer's eyes as the emotion in the eyes, or something psychological people reflected into a murder's eyes, but Mustang knew what it really was. It was the unemotional categorization of people in the vicinity by threat, target and target range in the matter of moments necessary for a soldier to survive. The coldness in her eyes was the epitome of "killer's eyes" for her very job was to pick and choose the targets she would fell with precision.

If she _was_ transferred to his unit, Mustang would make every effort to supply her with as few of those opportunities as possible.

"Welcome to our squad, Cadet Hawkeye."

* * *

><p><em>The fifth meeting<em>

General Grumman sat back as Mustang cleared the chess set. "There is little use in reiterating the tactics I beat you with just last week so soon." Grumman chuckled. "I was curious to see how'd work" Mustang retorted calmly. The old man chuckled. "Speaking of working, shouldn't you be doing some of that?".

"Actually," admitted Mustang, "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Really?"

"One of my subordinats just transfered out from underneath me, and I need someone I can rely on. I haven't known the soldiers here for very long, and was wondering if you had anyone you'd recommend.""Trying to poach my men, are you?" asked the old man. Mustang rolled his eyes. "Actually, as a matter of fact, I do. My grandaughter. She's a nice catch," he said, winking at Mustang."And not just in the office."

He stood up to call the soldier into his office. "Mustang, I'd like you to meet 2nd Lt. Riza Hawkeye."


End file.
